


Number 24

by pajamabees



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Germerica - Freeform, Hockey AU, M/M, added aph russia somewhere in there but he's super irrelevant lol, gerame - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 11:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13879998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pajamabees/pseuds/pajamabees
Summary: Ludwig is a rookie goaltender for a national hockey team, and although he's had troubles with the culture surrounding hockey and its players, nothing has been able to get under his skin. That is, until he meets Number 24.





	Number 24

**Author's Note:**

> I've been really into hockey lately and I just think the goalies look so adorable  
> Here are some hockey terms:  
> Goon - a player who's sole purpose is to irritate the other team  
> Chippy - irritating, players are getting irritated with each other, trash talking  
> Chirp - trash talking or antagonizing   
> Biscuit - puck

Ludwig didn’t care for the crude chirping, or the occasional fights. Sure, he protected his teammates with a few pushes and shoves to the opposing team, because after all they were his teammates, and he really hated to see them get bullied by goons filled to the brim with masculinity and musky cologne. But that was the culture of the game, he supposed. A lot of his own teammates were the same anyway, checking opponents with unnecessary force that ended in abandoned gloves and a penalty. As a goaltender, he usually stayed put during those kind of fights, unless he could get a hold of an opposing team member to pull them away from the huge mess. Most of the time though, they would come to him, as if Ludwig was going to haul his entire padded self to a fight that didn’t involve him. It was funny, to be quite honest, how they would skate over to him in a warm hug, not even bothering to look at him. It was very nonchalant in a way, like they wanted an excuse to be hugged, especially from someone suited in tons of hard padding.

That’s what separated ice hockey from so many other male dominated sports. Masculinity was a problem but at least you could get a hug without hurting a man’s pride.

“These fights are pretty ridiculous, don’t you think?” A player asked him during one of those ‘hugs’, wearing the bright colors of the team Ludwig was defending his goal from. His face was inches from his own, so close his ragged panting wisped through the guard of his mask. Ludwig only nodded and held onto the man, both of them reassuring themselves that they were holding onto each other to keep balance, despite the fact they were professional skaters and could certainly stand on their own.

Yes, these fights were most definitely ridiculous.

Although, he had gotten into many brawls himself as well. He was a rookie goaltender, and he guessed hockey ‘veterans’ really liked that about him. For some reason this sport was just as much about proving one’s toughness as it was about scoring, and more often than not that meant proving someone else’s toughness too. Like breaking in new skates.

“You’re a tough guy, are ya?” someone challenged him one game as he strolled around his net. Ludwig accidentally sent him a smile behind his goalie mask, because he thought it was amusing how angry the man was after he unsuccessfully tried to score. Ludwig didn’t think he deserved that pop in the face at all, but he supposed it was worth it when three of his own teammates rammed into the guy at the same time in his defense.

Many players used this sport as an opportunity to fight, prove their strength, let out steam, ect., and popped off on a whim. Ludwig couldn’t say he was one of them, but he did appreciate the sense of loyalty in a team. All in all though, he just really loved the sport, and that was all there was to it, really.

And this game was no different than all the others, but it was a team he hadn’t played against yet. Everyone in the locker room chatted away as they dressed, analyzing the opponents’ team like they did before every game. Some players had beef, and planned on settling it, again, this time around. They warned Ludwig to watch out for some star shooters, told him to be prepared for bad penalties from another. There was one warning that confused him, though.

“And don’t mind Jones,” his teammate told him, “he’s number 24.”

“What does he do?” Ludwig asked.

His teammate shrugged. “Nothing really. He’s a star shooter, and has scored at least once in every game he’s played.”

“Oh.” That was all? That didn’t seem like a big deal to Ludwig. The guy was just a good player.

“He’s super chippy though.”

Oh. So another good player who likes to trash talk. Ludwig thought that was disappointing.

“But not in a bad way, if that makes sense.” His teammate added, and Ludwig was confused. “Yeah, he just likes to compliment everyone…. A weird dude, but he’s nice. Everyone loves that shorty.” He then looked up from tying his skates to smirk at Ludwig. “There’s a theory that the reason he scores so much is because he gets the goalie all hot and bothered with flirty remarks and shit.”

That warning wasn’t nearly enough to prepare Ludwig for what was to come. He was caught off guard from the weird advice, but Ludwig was a very composed player, and took pride in that. No one had gotten under his skin so far, even some of the biggest goons in the league. He figured number 24 was going to be a nuisance, but not unlike everyone else.

Boy, was he wrong.

Number 24 caught his eye the second both teams skated out for warm-ups. Ludwig’s team did their usual routine, pop music playing throughout the stadium as the piling crowd watched the players skate in wide circles and grab a puck to practice with. After a while the players dispersed, warming up on their own terms. Ludwig kneeled on the ice with his team’s other goalie, and they were both practicing their splits when number 24 glided over to them.

“And how are the two biggest boys doing on this lovely evening?” he chirped, and Ludwig immediately looked up to a smiling face. His teeth were perfect and white, and Ludwig could make out a pair of blue eyes behind a clear visor. There really wasn’t much else to see because everything was covered by the helmet and colorful uniform, but number 24 had quite the set of pronounced freckles on his dark-skinned cheeks.

The goalie beside him groaned and shook his head, going back to his warm-ups and pretending to ignore the short hockey player. Ludwig could see a tint of red through the net of his mask.

Number 24 pouted. “Aw, Jamie. I don’t even get a hello? It’s been so long since last season.”

Jamie wouldn’t answer, but that didn’t stop number 24 from getting attention. His gaze flickered to Ludwig then, and he skated closer, until he was standing right above him. “Hey, you’re the new main tender, yeah?”

Ludwig was taken back from the sudden closeness, and his gaze traveled up the body in front of him, but he didn’t have to travel for long to reach the mischievous blue eyes of number 24; the man really was short.

“Alfred,” a voice called, and Ludwig’s team captain made his way over, “you’re not supposed to be on this side during warm-up.”

Alfred’s smile turned towards the captain, and Ludwig swore he saw the man flutter his lashes. “I wasn’t doing anything, though.”

The captain was stoic as ever, and Ludwig couldn’t help but admire him for it. “You’re yapping,” he said, and Alfred just laughed as he was lightly pushed back to the other half of the rink, where his team was practicing shots.

“Okay, Braginsky. Tell everyone I said hello,” his gaze then fluttered to Ludwig, but he skated off without another word.

Ludwig shared a nod with the captain in thanks before he too skated away, and he was left once again to stretch with the second goaltender.

“Good luck with him,” Jamie said, and Ludwig was starting to feel the anticipation stir in his stomach.

The game went smooth enough, at least the first half. Number 24 hadn’t been switched in yet, and Ludwig completely forgot he existed as he blocked all but one shot. His team was winning two to one, and there were a few squabbles between the players every now and then. A player tried to ram into him as he was racing after the puck towards the goal, and the crowd got a nice laugh when he slipped into the net as Ludwig not only diverted the puck, but also slid to the side and successfully dodged the skater. Ludwig winced at the impact; it looked like it hurt. But the player got up, spewing curses at him for some unbeknownst reason that Ludwig will never understand. That man later got an interference penalty when he slapped Ludwig’s helmet off in the middle of a play, but it wasn’t anything knew. It wasn’t anything Ludwig couldn’t handle.

But it wasn’t until number 24 stepped onto the ice did things start to get tricky.

“You have nice eyes, man.”

Ludwig shot his gaze towards the sudden voice for a split second, and barely caught the puck flying towards the goal.

A low whistle followed suit, and Ludwig was finally given the break to look up as his team carried the puck away.

“Good save,” number 24 said, before winking and skating off.

Ludwig shook his head, inwardly chastising himself for letting his focus waver like that. _It will not happen again_ , he told himself.

A minute later and the puck was on the run again towards his side of the rink. It was passed to number 24, but he was too far down the right side to make a shot, so he skated behind the net to get around to the left. Ludwig’s eyes locked onto the puck, following its every move. Jones almost juked him as he neared the left side; Ludwig thought he was going to shoot at his right, but he only had a millisecond to realize it was aimed towards the left. All he could do was stick his leg out in a split, and he breathed a sigh of relief when it bounced off his foot and to the stick of one of his teammates.

“Damn, that was _clean_!” Jones shouted, and he skated off again, except instead of talking to Ludwig, he turned to the closest team member. Ludwig was unfortunate enough to hear the tail end of his comment.

“I want him to do that to my face, full homo.” His teammate hit him in the shoulder before they both glided to the other side.

Ludwig’s ears were steaming. And not from the exertion of being a goaltender.

The rest of the game went on just like that. Over and over Alfred Jones would shoot, and each time he would get closer to scoring. And each time he came up with a new comment that would leave Ludwig’s face as red as the color on Jones’ uniform.

Finally, there was a short break as a fight broke out between the players. The referee’s whistle blew and Ludwig took the opportunity for a short water break, facing the net as he grabbed for the bottle on top of it. The water felt good on his hot face, and he stretched his back when someone skidding to a halt sounded behind him.

“So, Beilschmidt? That sounds pretty German.”

Ludwig looked behind him to see none other than number 24, but he decided to just ignore him, setting the water bottle back in place and putting his gloves back on.

“C’mon, don’t ignore me! I’m not trying to be mean or anything,” he huffed and stomped a skate, but Ludwig wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t that he found the boy annoying, if anything Ludwig chose to keep quiet to keep from saying anything embarrassing. He found that some hockey players were prone to mockery. Jones didn’t seem like that kind of person, and so far his compliments have been pretty genuine, if just a little indecent. But still, Ludwig wasn’t much of a talker anyway.

Alfred seemed to have caught onto that. “Hmph. Well, the game’s almost over, and I just wanted to say that you’re a really good tender. And your helmet looks cool.”

The compliment almost made Ludwig smile. Hearing something other than self-gloating and mean comments was something to be cherished in this sport, and whether other players admitted it or not, it always left a nice feeling in the chest.

“But I will score a goal on you before the game ends.”

And that nice feeling was gone, almost as soon as it came. Ludwig actually shook his head in disappointment on instinct, which he immediately regretted. Now Jones knew he was listening to him.

Alfred laughed, and the refs called for everyone to come back together. He was about to skate off, but he turned back to Ludwig.

“Can I at least get a first name?” he asked, and they made eye contact for a few seconds before Ludwig decided to enlighten him.

“Ludwig.”

“Ooh,” Alfred sang, like a child who had just found something shiny, “I like the way you pronounce that.”

Ludwig’s eyebrow quirked at that, and he couldn’t stop the retort that slipped from his lips. “What? That’s the only correct way to say it.”

Alfred opened his mouth in another loud laugh, his head thrown back and everything. “That’s cute,” he said, and he pushed himself off the ice towards his team as he shouted back, “I’m coming for you. That biscuit will slip between those thighs before this game is over. And then again in overtime.”

He ended up being only half right. There was no overtime, because Alfred was able to score two shots in the last few minutes of the game. Ludwig was disappointed, but he knew not to blame himself. His teammates reassured him as well, patting him on the back and helmet. Jamie rubbed his shoulder with a small smirk on his face.

The game ended with good sportsmanship, both teams in a line and shaking each other’s hand. Some players got chippy with each other, but overall the game ended on good terms. But of course, Ludwig should have known number 24 wasn’t done talking just yet.

“Damn, even prettier without the helmet,” Alfred said as he shook Ludwig’s hand. The players around them laughed at the comment, and Ludwig’s ears grew pink once again. Jones was even smaller now that they were standing side by side - he barely reached Ludwig’s padded shoulders. And without his helmet, the world could see his messy mop of dirty blond hair, sticking up all over the place, a few strands matted down in sweat. Quite the little minx.

“I’ll see you next game, okay?” Alfred said, and he reached up to place a small piece of paper between the chest padding sticking out from the collar of Ludwig’s jersey. Ludwig’s teammates whistled and shouted at the interaction, and Ludwig put his helmet back on to cover his face. Alfred winked one last time, and line kept moving. Ludwig received a few pats from the other players, and, embarrassingly, a few congrats from getting a number.

The locker room was a mess, his teammates teasing Ludwig back and forth. It was lighthearted, and nothing was offensive, which Ludwig was grateful for. But he knew from this day forth his social reputation on this team had changed, but Ludwig had a difficult time deciding if that was a bad thing.

Before walking out, Ludwig stopped at the trash can, tempted to throw the piece of paper away. Instead, he crumbled it in his hands, and stuffed it in his pocket. He told himself he was only keeping it because he would surely meet Alfred in-game again, and he didn’t want to hurt the man’s feelings by telling him he threw it away.

His teammates didn’t buy it, and secretly, neither did Ludwig. 


End file.
